


Loser's Blues

by fengirl88



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 221B Ficlet, Community: fan_flashworks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2015-05-11
Packaged: 2018-03-30 03:24:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3921136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fengirl88/pseuds/fengirl88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I gather your date with Sergeant Anderson was a roaring success,” Mycroft says, beaming.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loser's Blues

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theicescholar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theicescholar/gifts), [second_skin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/second_skin/gifts).



> Third in the series that begins with [Bet](http://archiveofourown.org/works/178663) and continues with [A Date Worse](http://archiveofourown.org/works/192832). Written for the Wager challenge at fan_flashworks. Thanks to theicescholar for her encouragement; this one is for her and second_skin.

“I gather your date with Sergeant Anderson was a roaring success,” Mycroft says, beaming.

Sherlock glares. He _should_ have won their bet: he’d been sure that Mycroft was far too vain to go back to work with his post-chickenpox beard, and Sherlock’s idea for his forfeit had been pure genius. But Mycroft had proved him wrong, and John, the traitor, had told him Anderson’s name.

“I deleted it,” he says. Not quite true: his mind flashes up another image of himself and Anderson in the Natural History Museum. He hopes they send Mycroft the bill for repairs to that stupid animatronic T-Rex. Serve him right.

“Pity,” Mycroft says. “Oh well, there’s always the CCTV footage.”

Sherlock thinks of six different ways to kill him, and regretfully discards all of them.

“You really should know by now not to bet against me, Sherlock,” Mycroft says. “You always end up with – ah – _egg on your face_.”

His distaste for the colloquialisms he nevertheless uses is one of his more irritating habits.

“I’d rather have egg on my face than that ghastly thing,” Sherlock retorts.

“Gregory likes it,” Mycroft says, with something approaching a simper.

Who the fuck is _Gregory_? Not that Sherlock wants to know. The last thing he needs seared into his brain is the image of Big Brother with a boyfriend.


End file.
